


A Tent in the Empty Desert

by chapscher



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Hair Pulling, Hate Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Violence, cecilos mention, erotic asphyxiation, mention of past cecearl, the empty desert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1986627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapscher/pseuds/chapscher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While exploring the House that Doesn't Exist, Carlos has gotten himself trapped in the empty desert. He wanders to find a way back to Night Vale and discovers that he isn't alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The solitary house in the desert with its old oak door and pictures of lighthouses was lost to the horizon as Carlos walked alone in the desert. He was heading towards a distant mountain, but it never seemed to get any closer no matter how long he walked over sand and small, dead bushes. Time didn’t work in Night Vale and it didn’t work here, wherever “here” was. He had abandoned the hope of one of his research assistants opening the door to let him out of the house that was now miles behind him.

With each step, his phone grew heavier in his pocket. He was only a few buttons away from looking back on the dozens of photographs he took with Cecil. It had been several days since they last saw each other. He hoped Cecil was safe. Given the readings on the danger-meter the day he left the Night Vale, Carlos couldn’t be certain of anything.

It felt like several days. To be honest, Carlos wasn’t sure. The sun was immobile in the sky. If it moved at all, it almost seemed to be getting bigger. Or coming closer. It was difficult to tell. If only he had his team of scientists to examine this phenomenon. If only he had his lab so he could run detailed tests. If only he could just work the way he used to, running numbers as he sat across the kitchen table from Cecil.

But no. It was no use thinking like that now. A scientist is always resourceful. And when he gets to the mountain, he will stop to study this strange sun.

He paused for a moment, lifting his long and thick hair off the back of his neck. Although he was sweating and his eyes ached from looking across the shining sands of a seemingly endless desert, he was neither starving nor dehydrated. That’s not to say that his body didn’t ache, that his unkempt stubble didn’t made him feel filthy, nor that he hadn’t collapsed onto the sand and blacked out too many times to clearly remember. It was tortuous and brutal, but he knew that he wasn’t dying. At least not right away. If his research in Night Vale revealed anything, it was that he could never be completely certain about the world. And through his lens of study and logic, he couldn’t shake the nearly unbearable dread that he was in a very immediate danger. It wasn’t the desert itself, but something out in the sands. No. Not the sands. The sky.

He closed his eyes, crossing over a sand dune, sand whipping up against his clothes and getting caught in his hair. Just a little farther before he would rest again. A scientist always knows when it was time to rest… if just for a little while.

At first, he knew that he must have been hallucinating. But as he rubbed and shielded his eyes, the vision didn’t dissolve into sand and hot desert air. From the top of the sand dune, Carlos looked down onto a large tent. Outside the many draped walls and awnings was the hide of some animal drying in the sun. A trail of smoke lifted from a hole in the middle of the tent, smelling of sweet cooking meat.

Carlos half-stumbled down the side of the dune as he rushed towards the elaborate tent, the smell of food growing stronger. A second-wind driven by a very sudden hope rushed through him as his feet dug awkwardly into the shifting sands and a gritty texture touched and rubbed against his tongue and teeth. He was only a few dozen more footsteps away from the tent when a figure suddenly emerged armed with a bow and arrow aimed right at the scientist.

“No!” Carlos gasped, defensively holding out his arms. He tried to duck, but his legs gave out and he just collapsed. “Don’t – don’t shoot!”

The figure lowered the weapon, but didn’t move from the protective shadow of the tent.

“I’m lost,” Carlos continued. “I was studying this one strange house and I ended up in this desert and I don’t know how or if I could get home. And I don’t know how long I’ve been out here, but I really need to get home. Please.”

The figure didn’t move.

“I’m a scientist. My name is Carlos.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” said the figure. A man. “‘Perfect Carlos with his perfect hair.’ Yes. I know who you are.”

“You know who I-”

“How long have you been out here?”

“I… I don’t know. That is, I cannot say for sure. A scientist always tries to be completely accurate. And I honestly cannot tell you how long it has been since I left the house I was studying or even how long I waited in the house for my team of scientists to let me out. But it has been a long time. About a week. Well… I guess that’s a little longer than a week in a standard sense.”

The figure silently watched Carlos get back to his feet before he spoke again. “Come on in.”

Carlos watched as the figure disappeared into the deep shadows of the tent. He carefully stepped in, suddenly submerged into complete darkness except for an opening in the roof that was shrouded by a thick cloud of smoke.

“It takes a while for your eyes to adjust. Just sit down. I’ll get you some water.”

He slowly lowered himself to the floor, which was padded with a thin, woven mat. Catching his breath and finally realizing just how badly his feet ached, Carlos sat quietly, just listening. The brush of sand that was constant out in the desert was muffled by the thick and opaque draperies that made up the walls of the tent. There was a soft crackle of wood burning and the figure’s muted footfalls. A creak and a soft splash. A well?

“Are there any others here?”

“No. I live alone.”

“How long?”

“Not long enough. And I’ll need longer.”

Carlos furrowed his brow at the vague answer. “But you’re from Night Vale?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know how to get back?”

“I did.” The man approached him and placed a ceramic cup into Carlos’ hands. “But I don’t anymore. Perhaps I should forget.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just drink your water. I need to go pray.”

Carlos could just begin to see the man walk across the tent before disappearing behind a curtain. He sipped the water. It tasted like sulfur.

Holding the small cup, Carlos watched as the tent slowly grew clearer to him. A small collection of bows and crossbows hung on a rack close to the entrance beside several quivers of arrows. A slab of meat cooked over a fire pit. There was a well with a bucket. But despite the thick draperies that lined the walls and the steady fire, the tent was cool and Carlos began to shiver.

The man pushed the curtain aside and poured himself a small bowl of water.

“You said you knew how to get back,” Carlos said.

“I also said I don’t know how anymore.” The man responded. “This desert wasn’t always like this. The sun used to actually set… and it wasn’t as bright. With night and the right rituals, I could get back to Night Vale, but it hasn’t been night in a long time. And the rituals are getting weaker, no matter how I approach it.”

The man was slender and had brilliant red hair. He wore a torn undershirt and cargo shorts. But what caught Carlos’ attention was a softly glowing pin that held a neckerchief in place. He lowered a bucket into the well and brought it to Carlos.

“Here,” he said. “Shower. I’ll be behind that curtain if you need me.”

“Alright, but before that…what’s your name?”

“Earl. Harlan. Scoutmaster with no troop at the moment.”

“Right. Thank you, Earl.”

He had heard the name before, but he just couldn’t place where. Cecil must have told him over dinner… or he said it on his show once. Carlos’ time in Night Vale had been as wonderful as it had been terrifying and overwhelming. Besides, Carlos had never been incredibly good with names. He strained to remember as he stripped out of his filthy clothes and poured the sulfuric water over his head, scrubbing at his skin to help the sand strip the oily film from his hair. It was several buckets of water before Carlos finally felt clean enough to shift his attention to his clothes. Soiled water quenched the parched ground as clothes were carefully cleaned and set just outside the tent to dry in the blinding sun.

Wrapping himself in a blanket, Carlos approached the curtain Earl had disappeared behind. He tapped at one of the support beams before carefully drawing back the curtain.

At the opposite end of the room, Earl sat before a black and red stone spire, murmuring quietly to himself. The spire had a strange, faint glow to it, but it kept fading to darkness. There was a suitcase close to the room’s entrance with a glowing stone as well. This one was resting next to a small and worn photograph. A well-loved picture of Cecil.


	2. Chapter 2

Carlos looked down at his plate of food as Earl sat in silence a few feet away from him on the woven mat. Although he admittedly was better at reading scientific data than he was people, he couldn’t decipher Earl’s expression. Either distracted or concerned, he was completely lost in thought- blind and numb to Carlos’ curious glances. He opened his mouth to speak, but Earl interrupted him before he even began.

“You’ll be on your way as soon as your clothes are ready,” Earl said, more statement than question.

“I’ve been trying to get to the mountain.”

“Mountains aren’t real.”

Carlos’ eyes narrowed at the man sitting across from him. “Actually, scientifically speaking, mountains are-”

“-scientifically nothing,” Earl shot back. “Just from an orienteering perspective, I cannot direct you to a place that simply does not exist.”

“Then where am I supposed to go? There is nothing else out here in this godforsaken desert. How am I supposed to get home?”

“Not my problem.”

“Why do you have a photograph of my boyfriend in your bedroom?”

Earl set his mug of water down, looking like he had just been physically struck across the face. For just an instant, his once unreadable expression shifted to one of distinct pain. Even Carlos could see that he had struck a nerve. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“My boyfriend, Cecil Palmer,” Carlos clarified, studying Earl’s eyes. “You have a photograph of him just behind that curtain. Now, I’m not here to insinuate anything, but as his boyfriend, I feel that I have the right to know.”

“No you don’t.”

“Why do you have that picture?”

“How I know Cecil is neither here nor there. And I cannot help you, Carlos,” Earl said, straining calmness. “I don’t know how to get back to Night Vale, and if I did, I don’t think I would want to tell you.”

“Why? Don’t you want Cecil to be happy and with his boyfriend again?”

“Cecil’s boyfriend is a mingey little prick!” Earl snapped. “Besides, if you managed to get yourself stuck out here with your lab coat and your… your hair, then I really question if you would be able to protect him if you needed to.”

“I can protect Cecil, but I realize that he can protect himself and I’m not so clingy that I think he can’t survive without me.”

“What do you know about surviving in Night Vale? It’s not like you grew up there, running from street cleaners and building defenses against librarians. Do you know how to stun a hooded figure or where the Valentine’s Day bunkers are? Because I don’t think you do. You’re all hung up on ‘why?’ and not ‘ _where_ is all this blood coming from?’ or ‘ _when_ will the screaming end?’ Asking ‘why’ only leads to re-education and imprisonment.”

“That’s not how things should be.”

“And if you can’t handle how Night Vale is, then I don’t think you should return. Go back to… whatever university or government program sent you here. If not for your sake, then for Cecil’s.”

Carlos slammed his plate on the ground. “Don’t pretend that this is ‘for Cecil.’ With that photograph you have of him, you cannot sit there and tell me that you’re only saying that with Cecil in mind.”

“Could you protect him if you wanted to?”

“Yes! Are… are you challenging me to a fight?”

“Your words, not mine. But, as a scout is honest, I would have to say yes.”

“Well,” Carlos said, standing. “As a scientist is always direct, I would have said it earlier.”

Earl stood and pulled off his battered undershirt as he stepped away from their plates. “You have no idea what Night Vale can do to him.”

“I do,” Carlos said, hesitating for a moment before letting the blanket wrapped around his waist fall to the floor. “And I can think of many more scientific ways to prove it, but if this is how _scouts_ handle their disputes, then I guess you have left me with no other choice. A scientist is always accommodating.”

“Oh for the love of – cover yourself.”

“Do you want a fight or don’t you?”

“Fine, fine. It’s more of a recommendation for you, but I don’t care. Makes you easier to hit.”

“Let’s keep this a clean fight.”

Earl clenched his fists, his eyes flashing as he glared at the naked scientist. Carlos lifted his hands defensively, his feet digging into the soft mats that lined the floor of the tent. He had never gotten into a fight in his life, but he wasn’t about to let Earl see that. He shuffled awkwardly, not sure how they should start.

Carlos cleared his throat. “Are you just going to stand there?”

The words had just left his mouth when Earl hit and hit hard. Carlos felt each individual knuckle as Earl’s fist slammed into him, striking his eye and nose. He fell to the floor in pain, the breath knocked out of him. As he gently ran his fingertips over his face, Carlos felt his warm, wet, and thick blood start to drip from his nose. Eyes closed tightly, Carlos tried not to cry as the pain began to set in and he hiccupped for breath.

“Thank you for letting me prove my point.”

“I’m not done,” Carlos growled, resting his face against the cool ground. “Just… give me a moment.”

He watched as Earl backed away, rubbing his hand and moving lightly on his feet. Wiping his own blood onto the back of his hand, Carlos stood, ready to weave out of Earl’s range when he needed to. The two stared each other down before Carlos tried to return the blow, but his fist was caught in Earl’s hand before it could land where he wanted it to. Blocking his face, Carlos stepped in close to Earl and gave him a hard shove. Just as Earl was about to get his balance back, Carlos kicked him in the leg and Earl fell backwards.

Carlos wasted no time as he straddled Earl’s hips and punched him hard in the stomach. Earl’s fist came down onto Carlos’ thigh, but Carlos barely felt it in the rush of holding the scout down on the floor of his own tent. He gripped Earl’s wrists and pinned them, letting his bloody nose drip onto Earl’s face as he leaned over him.

“Why do you have a picture of Cecil?” Carlos demanded.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“Tell me!”

“It’s because we dated, alright?!” Earl shouted, struggling to sit up. “We had an on-off relationship ever since we were fourteen.”

“Why on/off? Did you think you were too good for him?”

“No! He’s afraid of commitment and needs to take some time-off after about a year.”

“Cecil? Afraid of commitment? That’s not the impression he gave me.”

“Shut up!”

Earl head-butted Carlos, hitting him on the mouth. Carlos gathered Earl’s wrists into one hand, securing them above Earl’s head before bringing his fist down onto his ribs. Earl grunted as he took one punch after another, swearing loudly as he tried to get Carlos off of him.

“If you’ve been seeing him for about a year, he’ll be done with you as soon as you get home,” Earl gasped between punches. “So you better love your research, because it’ll be the only thing you’ll be doing if you get back to Night Vale.”

Carlos stopped punching Earl and gripped at his throat, pressing just enough to lightly choke the scout. “You don’t know anything about what Cecil and I have. You don’t know what he has promised me. And I’m starting to think that there was a reason why I hadn’t heard of you until now.”

Earl’s eyes started to water as he tried to knock Carlos off of him. Carlos kept his hand on Earl’s throat as he started to back off, but something made him stop. As he shifted, he felt Earl’s erection dig into him. Letting go of the scoutmaster’s neck, he reached back and felt the pronounced bulge through the fabric of Earl’s shorts.

“Do you like being choked or shamed?” Carlos hissed, groping him. “Because I know I could keep going with either.”

Earl didn’t answer as he bucked up against Carlos’ hand.

“You know, I didn’t think of it until now, but I would love to hear what that smart mouth of yours has to say when you get put into your place. To hear you curse in time with each thrust I give you.”

Earl bit his lip.

“You were out here for how long with only that picture and your hand? While I was in Night Vale getting the real thing whenever I wanted. I should fuck you out of pity.”

“Then do it.”

Carlos backed off of Earl and fumbled with his fly as the scout gently touched the point on his ribs that was sure to get a deep bruise. Earl tugged at Carlos’ hair, pulling a soft pleasurable moan from him. Carlos tugged Earl’s shorts and jockstrap down his long, pale legs, looking up as a pot of olive oil was set down beside him. As soon as his clothes were off, Earl leaned in, biting Carlos’ shoulder and lacing his fingers into long, thick, black hair.

Carlos scratched down Earl’s back and closed his eyes as the scoutmaster rubbed his arousal against him. He stiffened as Earl continued to pull his hair and left little bite marks along his shoulder. Breathing heavily, he gripped one of Earl’s wrists hard enough to leave a bruise.

Unable to hold back, Carlos turned Earl around and shoved him down onto the mat. He dipped his fingers into the warm olive oil and shoved two of them into Earl’s core. The scout gasped, his legs open just enough for Carlos. Carlos panted for breath as he watched Earl tremble beneath him and fuck himself on the two probing fingers. He spanked the scoutmaster, the harsh slap and deep moan filling the tent. And while Carlos spanked and fingered Earl open, Earl bit down and sucked on his bloodied knuckles.

While a third finger stretched Earl, Carlos’ other hand began to sting after so coming down so many times on Earl’s skin – now red with the marks from Carlos’ palm. He dipped his aching hand in the oil before stroking himself. He glared down at Earl, horny and bent over so close to the small pool of Carlos’ blood. He thought of the photograph of Cecil and of Earl staring at it as he jacked off with the very oil coating his ass right now. The things Earl must want to do to him. The things he wouldn’t hesitate doing if he ever made it back to Night Vale.

What does Earl have to say when he’s being put in his place?

Carlos took his fingers out of Earl and slammed into him, making Earl scream in pain before gasping in pleasure. He gripped onto Earl’s hips, making sure that his fingers left bruises on the other man’s pale skin. He thrust hard, giving Earl no time to adjust as he buried himself up to the hilt into the scoutmaster’s almost too-eager body. Despite his blackened eye and bloody nose, Carlos soon found himself lost in the rhythm and friction.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Earl growled over his shoulder.

Without a word, Carlos grabbed Earl’s arms and pulled him off the floor. One hand closed around Earl’s throat while another gripped his soft red hair, pulling his head back. Carlos bit down hard on Earl’s shoulder, making sure to leave a mark just as dark and painful as the ones Earl had left on him. He closed his eyes as Earl reached up and tugged on his hair in return, grinding his ass against him.

Panting, Carlos let go of Earl’s hair and gripped his arousal, rubbing his palm along the length. He loosened his grip on Earl’s neck, listening to the other man gasp for breath for a moment before pressing his throat against Carlos’ open hand. Carefully, Carlos ran his fingers along Earl’s erection, pressing on the head and toying with the pre-cum beaded slit. He scraped his teeth against Earl’s ear as the scout began to ride him.

“Are you going to come for me?” Carlos whispered, fondling Earl’s balls a little too roughly.

“Oh, masters of us all.”

He began massaging Earl’s length again and immediately began to feel the scout tremble. Spasms of pleasure pulsed around Carlos before Earl came all over Carlos’ hand and onto the woven mats beneath them. The scientist wasted no time in shoving Earl down onto the floor, making him lie on top of his own come. Carlos pulled out of him and pumped himself with one hand while he pinned Earl down with the other. He groaned through clenched teeth as he succumbed and came onto Earl’s back.

The two were still, breathing the heavy air of the tent for a long moment before Carlos finally moved. He stood, becoming more aware of the bruised muscle all over his body. One foot on the small of Earl’s back to keep him from moving, Carlos gripped his cock and urinated along Earl’s back and into his hair. The scout struggled under him, shouting at him to fuck off for the first time since they had stopped fighting.

When he finished, Carlos kicked the other man in the ribs and walked to the well. In complete silence, he drew up a bucket of water and drenched Earl. The bucket fell with a dull thud onto the ground as Carlos parted the curtain and walked into Earl’s room. There, he sat on the ground for a long time, staring at the photograph of Cecil before closing his eyes and burying his face in his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Earl Harlan’s skin turned a bright red as he scrubbed himself with scalding water. He sat outside, letting the blood, semen, sweat, and urine stream off of him and the mat and into the hot sands of the desert. There was another pot of boiling water waiting inside for yet another shower. He tried not to think about Carlos and about the cause of each individual dull ache that covered his body.

After about a year of reflection he had believed that he would be able to think about Cecil with a clear mind. It took longer than he cared to admit before he realized just how badly he fucked up their last moments together. He was terrified that afternoon – knowing that he was pushing his luck in attending yet another Boy Scout court of honor. But being faced with his own mortality was hardly an excuse to say what he did – something that could be read as far more selfish than he had ever intended.

But all of this meditation was thrown away in just a few hours. All of the rationality he had in theory crumbled to raw emotions as soon as he saw Carlos. Pulled out of solitude, Earl was able to touch another human being again. And although he was fueled by jealousy, it was still good.

Blood stained the pores and crevasses of the mat, refusing to disappear no matter how much boiling water was poured over it or how hard Earl scrubbed with rags and sand. He had lost count of how many pots of water he had boiled and how many times he had washed his hair with water that was still too hot to touch. The stench of everything had left a long time ago; now, the only washing was ritual more than anything else.

Tired, he left the mat out to dry and wandered back into the tent. The heavy air had finally lifted out into the empty desert, leaving the tent feeling dry and empty. Earl knelt down and took the water off of the fire before he toweled off and brushed the curtain aside.

Carlos was sleeping on the pile of mats that Earl had been using as a bed. The photograph of Cecil had been removed from its place on the shelf and set down on the mattress. Careful not to wake the other man, Earl gently picked it up.

He had taken the photo years ago, not long after Cecil had started college and just a few months before Earl was promoted to scoutmaster. They had just started dating again and were taking a celebratory camping trip to mark the occasion. He remembered the moment the photograph was taken; the way Cecil beckoned him into the tent coquettishly to take a photo of him half naked and buried in furs. It was the first time the two were involved after Cecil had developed his mature radio voice, and Earl was still getting used to those lulling tones humming his name.

Earl’s attention shifted to Carlos, sleeping silently on the makeshift bed. His eye and lips were swollen and marked with small cuts. But despite the bruises and dried blood that covered bus face, Carlos was still perfectly beautiful, there was no point in denying that. “His hair is perfect,” he could still hear Cecil coo, “and we all hate and despair and love that perfect hair in equal measure.”

Earl reached down and gripped Carlos’ thick, black hair, knowing that Cecil too was familiar with the pained and lustful moans Carlos made when it was pulled hard enough. He wanted to pull it again and listen to the scientist beg. He wanted to take his scout-issued knife and cut the long, perfect locks from Carlos’ head.

He hesitated for only an instant before leaning down and giving Carlos a bruising kiss. The scientist stirred and tried to shove Earl off of him, but Earl grabbed his wrist and pinned it onto the bed before straddling his hips and forcing his tongue into Carlos’ mouth. The contact of skin against skin was sudden and made each man groan in desire. Bare legs rubbing against each other, Carlos tried to turn them so he could lie on top, but Earl didn’t move as he dug his stiffening cock into Carlos’ hip.

Earl broke the kiss and sat on Carlos’ chest, pinning both of the scientist’s wrists down as he positioned the tip of his prick against Carlos’ lips. The scientist turned his head away reluctantly at first, but as Earl kept nudging at his cheek, he took the sensitive head into his wet mouth.

Earl groaned and gently rolled his hips, forcing Carlos the take more. The scientist choked for an instant before caressing Earl with his tongue and swallowing as much as he could. Earl could feel the man struggling under him, but kept holding Carlos to the bed. It wasn’t until they had fallen into a rhythm that Earl finally looked down.

Carlos’ bruised face was flushed and he looked up at Earl with large, dark eyes. His cheeks hollowed out as he sucked on the scoutmaster’s sensitive cock. A few strands of hair hung down over his nose and cheek. Earl shifted just enough to pin one of Carlos’ arms down with his leg and brushed the strand of hair out of the scientist’s face with his free hand. Earl’s long, slender fingers caressed along Carlos’ cheekbone before burying into his hair and grasping firmly enough that Carlos couldn’t move his head without Earl’s permission.

“Perfect Carlos,” Earl whispered, slipping his cock out and past swollen lips. “Dirty little mouth.”

“Touch me.”

Earl glared down at him before releasing Carlos’ wrist. “Touch yourself.”

The scoutmaster gripped his own cock and gently tapped it against Carlos’ cheek a few times before shoving it back into his mouth. He guided the scientist’s head, pulling his hair and forcing him to take more than he could handle without choking. Carlos’ tongue caressed along Earl’s length, the gentle suction teasing his sensitive prick.

Earl’s eyes closed as he listened to Carlos’ soft grunts and moans around his cock. He felt the other man’s arm move and his back arch as he pleasured himself. Earl let himself get lost in the sensations until he heard and felt Carlos gag. He pulled out and Carlos threw back his head in a harsh cry. Carlos was clearly sitting right on the verge. Earl struck him across the cheek before shoving back in – deeper than before.

“Take it,” Earl growled. “Let me fuck your throat.”

Carlos gagged on Earl’s prick, choking as Earl gently scraped past his tongue. Earl thrust a few more times before he pulled out and turned Carlos onto his stomach. Straddling the scientist’s shoulders, Earl tugged on Carlos’ hair and buried himself into the thick, black waves of perfect hair. It only took a few solid pumps before Earl gave in and came onto the scientist, violating the object of Cecil’s most vocal affections. Carlos swore loudly as Earl pinned him down throughout his orgasm.

Carlos was covered in a heavy blush when Earl finally let him turn around. The scoutmaster wasted no time as he reached down and stroked Carlos’ straining erection. Carlos gripped at the bed, lifting his hips as he struggled for more purchase. He cursed as Earl leaned down and took his cock into his mouth. The scoutmaster only teased his slit for a moment before Carlos shot off his load – most of it landing on his stomach.

 

When their post-orgasmic haze lifted, Earl was on top of Carlos – toying with clean strands of hair and kissing him slowly. Carlos’ arms were wrapped around him and gently stroked along his back. Earl broke the kiss and sat up.

“Clean yourself up,” he said bluntly.

Carlos didn’t say a word as he got up and stepped out of the room, leaving Earl alone on the bed. The scoutmaster lay down, once again fully aware of the bruises that covered him. Closing his eyes, he saw the photograph he had examined countless times. Blindly, he reached for the neckerchief and pin he had tossed onto the bed soon after Carlos arrived.

Small bloodstone in hand, Earl cleared his mind and silently began to pray.


	4. Chapter 4

Earl awoke alone, not sure how long he had slept. Sore, he got up and drew back the curtain. He was neither surprised nor disappointed when he saw that he was alone and short a bow and a few arrows. Squinting, he looked outside. The clothes were gone and Carlos’ footprints had already been buried by the sand. Earl climbed to the top of a nearby sand dune and looked over a desert as empty as it had ever been. Sand brushed over his bare body and Earl returned to the cool darkness of the tent.

Carlos had come in like a mirage and unraveled him. And with him gone and the rest of him washed away, it was almost like he was never there. If it weren’t for the deep bruises that marked Earl’s body, he would have begun to doubt that anything more than a lucid dream had passed. But even those might have been born from his own self-loathing.

After years of week or month-long retreats into the solitude of the desert, Earl had thought he had risen above such hallucinations. When he was younger, he used to have vivid dreams of Cecil appearing in his tent to caress and toy with him. Or he dreamt that Steve appeared and they talked for hours. But as he grew more accustomed to being out in the desert, these dreams stopped and he was left alone with his thoughts and meditations in waking hours. He accepted the quiet, monotonous existence in endless and blinding daylight.

His eyes accustomed to the darkness, Earl returned to his bedroom and the bloodstone spire. But before he could pick up his bloodstone pin and begin to pray, he heard an ululating tone somewhere outside the heavy canvas walls. He pulled on his scout-issued shorts and, gripping a crossbow, he stepped back out into the desert sand.

Shrouded in a glow of soft darkness was an old oak door. It hummed softly and was untouched by the shifting sands of the desert. Earl approached it and gently ran his fingertips along the grain of the wood and the worn brass handle.  It vibrated as he touched it, moving in time with the deep hum emitted by the door. It was oddly comforting, like he was suddenly much closer to something familiar.

He stepped back, eyes raking over the old oak door for a long moment before backing into the tent. For the first time since he had first settled in the desert, Earl opened his suitcase and looked down at his folded uniform and his lightly torn badge sash. It fit looser than her remembered. After so long in the desert, it felt odd to pull socks over his feet and lace up his old hiking boots. The neckerchief secured around his neck, he felt just as he did when he arrived.

There was no need to take much – he had barely arrived with anything. All the mats and draperies he had found in the sand or had made from dead grass and the hides of the deer he found wandering out in the desert. All that was packed in the suitcase were a few bloodstones and some clothes he had been using as blankets. He knew he wouldn’t return from the Eternal Scout ceremony, but didn’t anticipate the mute children. If anything, he thought he would just spend some time on the road to clear his head. Still, he didn’t take much with him – not wanting to alarm the scouts and parents who were unfamiliar with the mortality rate of scout courts of honor.

As the stones and makeshift bedding were shoved into the suitcase, the photograph of Cecil fell to the ground. Earl glanced down at it before walking past and retrieving the pot and pan from beside the fire pit. A year of meditation and trying to put his past behind him and he was still drawn to immediately pick up the photograph – as if it were a sacrilege to leave it on the ground. Again – and almost without consciously deciding to do so – Earl picked up the photograph and tucked it away in his wallet.

Everything he came with packed into the suitcase, Earl took his crossbow and stepped out of the tent. To his surprise, the door was still there. His stomach turned uneasily despite the comforting aura coming from the door. What if it took him into an even more barren desert? Or what if it took him back to Night Vale? Closer to Cecil, after how they parted and what just happened with Carlos, was more nerve-wrecking than anything else chance could throw at him.

He looked over the empty desert and the tent he had been living in. It was only a few seconds since he had stepped out of it and the tent already looked long-abandoned and just another sun-bleached feature of the sands. Earl’s hand rested on the door’s brass handle and the hum seemed to course through his body as the glow enveloped him. He held his breath and pushed open the door, the bright desert fading to a deep indigo darkness.

 

Earl stepped into a dark alley, the door vanished before he could even turn to look behind him. It was night. Not too far away, he could hear howling and chanting from unearthly voices. The sidewalk Earl stepped out into was lit by dim whale oil lamps. The air smelled of cooking meat and gunpowder. In the distance and glowing out of the backdrop of the void was a red light blinking on top of a radio tower.

He was home.


End file.
